The Day After Yesterday
by meganphntmgrl
Summary: On the day of the Musical Goodwill Tour, the Opera House is wracked with extreme weather patterns that could trigger a new Ice Age. Watch as alliances are formed,memories awakened, stands are made, and cannibalism is desperately kept in check.
1. Yes, I'm Completely Loopy

_Megan the Phantom Girlie  
  
Presents  
_  
** THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY**  
  
_An "Oh No!" Production_  
  
_ Starring_  
  
** THE CAST OF "THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA"**  
  
** THE CAST OF "LES MISÉRABLES"**  
  
_Appearances By_  
  
**THE JELLICLE CATS  
  
THE CAST OF "THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL"  
  
THE CAST OF "STARLIGHT EXPRESS"**  
  
_(And the rest!)  
  
Special Guest Star  
_  
** THE GRIM REAPER**  
  
_ Pretentious Credits Courtesy of Microsoft Word_  
  
I suppose it started like any other morning, assuming you begin most mornings in a dark underground lair. I can't say I do; I tend to wake up in my bedroom, which gets a fair amount of sunlight and is painted a light color to boot. Oh- and there's a mirror, too. Yes, that deflects a lot of light but can be a bugger when you first wake up! - But this story does not begin in a brightly lit bedroom. It begins in a dark underground lair, because that's where your buddy and mine Erik tended to start his day. Which he did.  
  
The first thing he noticed was that the toothpaste was a bit sluggish coming out of the tube; a fact to which he did not give much thought. The second was the fact that there were icebergs in the lake, which threatened to turn his morning commute into a small version of the Titanic incident (which had happened. There was a bit of an accident with a time gap, but that's another story.)  
  
"Oh, bugger," said Erik.

Christine arrived in her dressing room early that same day, only to find Erik sitting at her vanity, staring at her through multiple scarves, coats, and what might have been a balaclava. (Christine had never seen a balaclava, so how was she to know?)  
  
"Erik?" asked Christine, squinting slightly.  
  
"I advise you to put on as many cloaks as possible, dear," said Erik. "And would you happen to have a laptop handy?"  
  
"In the third drawer, under the corsets," said Christine. (Very technologically advanced, that girl.)  
  
Erik pulled out Christine's laptop computer. After a few games of solitaire, he frantically plugged in the information he was able to obtain by observing the sluggish toothpaste and the suddenly Arctic lake. Meanwhile, Christine began rearranging her unicorn figure collection.  
  
One can suppose the process would have been quicker had Erik known how to type with more than two fingers. After some time, he jumped up.  
  
"Aha- OW!" (He had jumped a little too high and smacked his head on the ceiling.)  
  
"What is it, my dear?" Christine asked, rushing to his side with an Icee Gelpak.  
  
"Everyone in this opera house needs to gather in the auditorium. Their lives may depend on it."  
  
"Everyone?"  
  
"Yes-"  
  
"But think about the refreshment costs?"  
  
"I don't think refreshment costs matter right now-"  
  
"You know nobody comes to the company meetings unless we have doughnuts!"  
  
"FINE!" Erik sighed. "I'll get some doughnuts-"  
  
"And coffee." Christine added.  
  
"All right. Coffee and doughnuts-"  
  
"But if you think you'll be back after 11:30, scrap the doughnuts and get cold cuts instead."  
  
"Cold cuts after 11:30. Got it."  
  
"And a veggie platter, come to think of it."  
  
"A veggie platter-"  
  
"No, make that two. We have guests today."  
  
Erik shook his head wearily. "So that's doughnuts and coffee, but if it's after 11:30, then it's two platters of veggies and one of cold cuts."  
  
"No, two cold cuts too."  
  
The Phantom nodded, trying to hold all that information. "I think I've got it."  
  
"All right." Christine smiled. "Good luck. We'll all be waiting for you to tell us the life-threatening news."  
  
Erik nodded and headed down the hall until he remembered something.  
  
"Guests?"  
  
He turned around and went back toward Christine's dressing room.  
  
"Christine?"  
  
Unfortunately, he had caught her in the middle of an impromptu private rehearsal, and the hallway was filled with a very loud soprano voice trilling out "IIIIIIIIII don't know how to loooooooooooove hiiiiiiiiiim. . ."  
  
He sighed, knowing that there was no getting her attention right now and thanking any number of deities that she was at least past "Papa Can You Hear Me?"  
  
This was probably the weirdest situation Enjolras had ever found himself in. Other than himself and a few people he knew from his own story, the grand foyer of the Opera House was swarming with about thirty cats leaping around and only slightly fewer people on roller skates who were wearing odd, metallic clothes and had rainbow-colored hair in some of the most bizarre styles he had ever seen. (This included the time he made the mistake of serving watermelon margaritas to the other Amis as a reward for a week of hard revolution-planning, and a very drunk Grantaire found Feuilly's old Flowbee.)  
  
"Smoke?" offered a woman on skates. Her costume was almost all copper, with a short, wide skirt and a low neckline, and her brown hair had been shaped into a sort of tube in the back and pinned up.  
  
"Um, no thanks." said Enjolras.  
  
"Yeah, I know it's a bad habit," the woman admitted. "But I'm the smoking car, so I'm used to it."  
  
"The smoking car?"  
  
"Yeah. You know, an observation coach where they let you smoke."  
  
"Like on a train?"  
  
"Exactly! Sometimes I ride with Rusty over there" –she gestured at a young man in dark silvery overalls, a red shirt, and skates with a bandanna tied in a strip around his head- "'cause he's a steam train and puts out plenty of smoke on his own."  
  
"Anthropomorphized trains," Enjolras muttered. "Great."  
  
"I'm Ashley, by the way," said the woman who called herself the smoking car.  
  
"Enjolras."  
  
He turned toward the door as Ashley took a long drag. A few people started streaming in through the door. Enjolras' mouth fell open.  
  
"What's your deal, hon?" asked Ashley.  
  
"The sans-culottes of '89! My comrades!"  
  
Enjolras leapt toward the French Revolutionary mob, beaming.  
  
"My friends! It is an honor to meet you-"  
  
"Oh, boy, it's one of them Les Miz kids." one of the sans-culottes whispered to his neighbor.  
  
"Poke him, Jacques, and see if he giggles," a woman suggested.  
  
Poor Enjolras didn't know what to do. "You must understand, my friends, that I modeled my revolution after you-"  
  
"Ha! Have you ever toppled a monarchy?"  
  
"Well-"  
  
"Freed a prison?"  
  
"That was on the agenda, I swear-"  
  
"Helped build a new empire?"  
  
"It was my first try!"  
  
The apparent revolutionary leader shook his head. "You whippersnappers are all alike, thinking a little civil disobedience'll let you run with the big dogs. All those freaks from "Hair" thought the same thing."  
  
That was the wrong thing to say. "How DARE you compare our quest to a gang of hippies!" Enjolras shrieked. "And for your information, SIR, has your plight ever been turned into a musical?"  
  
The sans-culottes exchanged looks. "Two. We're representing "The Scarlet Pimpernel" today."  
  
Enjolras groaned. "Tomorrow, I'm going to clown college like Ma wanted."  
  
At that moment, a very pretty young lady came down the stairs. She had enormous, dewy green eyes and long brown ringlets of hair. She was wearing a simple, tasteful blue dress and a pearly smile.  
  
"Welcome, everyone. I am Christine. Please follow me to the auditorium and make yourselves at home, because it sounds an awful lot like we're all going to die here."  
  
She continued beaming at them like she'd just announced they'd all be given the chance to have an affair with an attractive celebrity, but the crowd had heard what she had said and was stunned into silence.  
  
"Shoot! What a gyp!" said someone in the Scarlet Pimpernel crowd.Raoul de Chagny was not having a good day. Contrary to popular belief, being a handsome, rich, likable young man of noble blood did not immediately predestine that all of your days would be good ones. In fact, it had been a long time since he had had a good day. Ironically, it was because he was a handsome, rich, likable young man of noble blood that his life had become so miserable.  
  
He crossed his arms and sat back in his seat, staring at Christine, who was organizing the guests for the Musical Goodwill Tour into their seats. She looked up and gave him that gorgeous smile she was so well known for. Raoul smiled back, weakly. Why did fate have to mock him like this?  
  
A scrawny girl in rags and a newsboy hat sat down next to him, her face covered in dirt.  
  
"Hallo," she said with a smile.  
  
"Hallo, "Raoul replied.  
  
"M'name's Eponine," said the girl. "I'm from Les Miz. Woss yours?"  
  
"Raoul," Raoul sighed.  
  
"Well, y'look awfully grim," said Eponine. "Woss yer problem?"  
  
Raoul sneered at her. "Do you really want to know?"  
  
"Well, I think I would." said Eponine.Some time ago, there had been a minor incident affecting Christine and Raoul's engagement. As it turned out, there was a severely deformed and slightly insane man named Erik who lived under the Opera House and who happened to think Christine was quite the little piece of all right. Erik started to give Christine voice lessons, which evolved to include him holding her up to his body and singing love songs in her ear while she stroked the mask he wore to hide that God-awful face. Of course, the young lady got a little to curious and decided to see what he was hiding. Unmasking him only managed to reveal his mind was about as messed up as his face and Christine went running back to Raoul.  
  
However, the night Christine confessed all of this to Raoul, she seemed turned on more than anything else, and Raoul began wondering if she wasn't exactly peachy in the head herself. After all, how many other girls would have tried to slip him the tongue after talking about an ugly mook of a suitor? It didn't seem right, but Raoul was as in love with her as ever and tried not to notice.  
  
So did Erik, apparently. Following a few little pranks, including dropping a rather large lighting fixture and shooting fireballs off her father's grave, Erik attempted to propose to Christine onstage, in an opera. Christine gave the highly unusual response of ripping off that mask and letting everyone in the theater share in the delight of a face that looked like it was rotting off. Erik decided that now was the best time to go all maniacal and drag Christine back to his, um, lair.  
  
Raoul had read enough books to know that he had apparently been thrust into the role of heroic rescuer, and he made his way down to Erik's flat. But when he got there, there was a nasty shock.  
  
Christine was in a wedding dress, veil and all, and all she could say was how much she pitied Erik. She begged for Erik to let Raoul in (as a witness to the wedding, Raoul thought bitterly), which he did. But Erik seemed to be quite as confused as Christine as to how to handle a crisis situation, and he promptly threw a noose around poor Raoul's neck and somehow got it to stand up on its own. Christine did a lot of vague pleading, and when Erik finally whispered something about making her choice, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a very long kiss Raoul was _certain_ involved tongue.  
  
Christine, for some reason, ran over to Raoul and tried to give him some cuddling right after the kiss. Erik seemed about as shaken as Raoul was. He burned the rope and let Raoul go and insisted Christine went too.  
  
_Loonies surround me_, Raoul thought.  
  
Christine gave Erik the ring and left with Raoul. They could hear Erik ranting about how much he loved her pretty much the whole way back up.  
  
When there'd been no news about Erik for a few weeks, Raoul decided it was safe to renew his engagement to Christine. She seemed to accept wholeheartedly.  
  
That, of course, was when the trouble began afresh.  
  
"Christine?"  
  
"Yes, dear?"  
  
"What temperature did you wash my overcoat in?"  
  
There was an embarrassed silence. Christine's face, blushed deep red, appeared around the corner.  
  
"I'm supposed to wash it in hot, right?"  
  
Raoul collapsed onto the bed. "It's shrunk. I can't wear it."  
  
The shadow of a smile briefly passed over Christine's face, then vanished just as quickly. "Then I'll go out and get you another one today."  
  
"You know my size?"  
  
"Yes, darling."  
  
When Christine returned, laden with packages, she handed him a heavy folded parcel.  
  
"Here we go."  
  
Raoul opened the parcel and drew out a long, shimmery black velvet thing with black pearl frog clasps on the front and thick black embroidery all over the shoulders and collar.  
  
"Christine," he sighed, "I think you bought me a cloak."  
  
Christine nodded. "It's more practical than an overcoat, you'll find. It's better for winter. And you'll look so majestic in it!"  
  
Raoul stared suspiciously, but Christine had a knack for looking wide-eyed, pretty, and innocent when it suited her. Now must have suited her. Raoul sighed and decided he'd get used to a cloak soon enough.  
  
The next day, Raoul was eating breakfast when Christine darted through carrying a proper armload of towels.  
  
"Spill in the bathroom," she said by way of explanation."My Nair bottle." Raoul nodded.  
  
"Want me to help?" he offered.  
  
Christine turned, looking scandalized. "I am perfectly capable of helping myself, thank you! How are we women ever supposed to escape the glass ceiling if men offer to assist us with everything?"  
  
"I thought it was very feminist of me to offer to assist with the chores rather than leave my fiancée to do it all!" Raoul sputtered.  
  
"Just like a man to think that," Christine grumbled before disappearing upstairs. Raoul was beginning to think that fellow in _Jane Eyre_ had the right idea stowing his mad wife in the attic.  
  
After breakfast, Raoul dressed and then went into the bathroom to comb his hair. He noticed his comb was laying on the counter, ready to be used, and thought it was quite thoughtful of Christine to put it there for him. He picked it up and began running it through his hair. There was a gentle tugging sensation, but he paid it no mind.  
  
After a few strokes, he noticed the comb felt heavier in his hand and went through his hair more slowly. Raoul brought the comb around and saw that it was full to bursting with short blond hairs. He looked in the mirror.  
  
He dropped the comb.  
  
"Christine!"  
  
He didn't wait for her to come; he ran out of the bathroom and collided with her in the hall.  
  
"Raoul-"  
  
She let out a stifled scream.  
  
"You're horrified?" Raoul gasped. "How do you think I feel? I'm twenty years old, for Christ's sake!"  
  
"Well," Christine rationalized, "some men lose their hair earlier than others, I suppose-"  
  
"This isn't exactly male-pattern baldness, Christine! It isn't so much the lack of hair that bothers me as the way it decided to come out!"  
  
"Dear, you still look young, don't worry-"  
  
"Christine! I think it's a disease of some sort. If I were just losing my hair, there would be a sort of . . . well, pattern of development, right? I still have it all over- you can just see right through it!"  
  
Christine's eyes were bigger than ever as she nodded. "You're probably right. We should get you to a doctor soon."  
  
"Could the doctor come to us instead? I can't go out like this!"  
  
Christine seemed to be inhabiting some other plane. She nodded dreamily. "Yes . . . We shall have to stay inside . . . And you'll be very pale . . ."  
  
The doctor spent a good deal of time examining Raoul's now-nearly-bald scalp and was unable to come up with any sort of diagnosis.  
  
"You're perfectly healthy," he said, "and I can't see any reason for you to avoid going outside. It's probably just a bizarre freak of biology. I expect your hair will grow back as usual."  
  
In the meantime, Christine offered to buy him a wig.  
  
"They didn't have any blond ones," she sighed, "but I found a brunet I think you'll just _adore_!"  
  
She pulled it from its box. It was dark brown and smoothed straight back from the hairline. Raoul was reminded uncomfortably of something, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.  
  
Christine continued to go shopping during the day, and she came back with a new hat for her fiancé. It looked a bit like a fedora, except with a rather wide brim.  
  
"I thought it would go beautifully with your cloak," she explained. "Oh- and I found us something absolutely delightful!"  
  
"It's a waffle iron." Raoul said, unimpressed.  
  
But the next morning, he found himself rising early to make his princess some waffles. He felt he had been a little hard on her lately and wanted to give her a pleasant surprise.  
  
He hadn't counted on the floor being so slippery. One false step, and he found himself with the right side of his face being grilled with a thin layer of waffle batter.  
  
His groan of pain woke Christine up. She ran to his side and pulled him away. To his shame, Raoul realized he was crying.  
  
"It'll be all right," Christine whispered. "It'll be all right. . ."  
  
Raoul blacked out.  
  
And he awoke. He was curled up in a ball and his face felt like fire. He reached up to touch it, but he met only bandages instead.  
  
Christine appeared in the doorway with a tray of tea.  
  
"Good morning," she whispered. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Pretty awful." He realized his lips were unburnt and smiled. "Mostly my pride."  
  
"I treated it before I bandaged it," said Christine. "But I think it'll still scar."  
  
Raoul sighed. "I had a feeling."  
  
"I'll love you anyway," said Christine. "Maybe more."  
  
She held him. Raoul noticed that she had covered all the mirrors . . .  
  
When Raoul was feeling up to it, he decided to take Christine on a moonlit walk. It was wonderful. He even wore the cloak and hat she had bought for him. She told him about life backstage at the Opera House, her friends on the Internet- the usual things. They stopped at a bridge.  
  
Raoul looked over the edge and saw his reflection in the water.  
  
"Oh, God, no," he gasped.  
  
The figure he saw looking back was cloaked, wearing that ridiculous hat, one side of his face shrouded in white. He saw the truth.  
  
Christine loved Erik, and, feeling she couldn't have him, had tried to make Raoul just like him.  
  
He whirled around.  
  
"I know why you love Erik!" he cried. "You're as psycho as he was!"  
  
Christine nodded helplessly. "You're right. I'm completely loopy."  
  
"And I can't be with a girl like that."  
  
He began trudging toward the hospital.  
  
"But I love you!" Christine cried.  
  
"You love Erik." Raoul replied.  
  
"And I love how Erik looks!" the girl screamed.  
  
Raoul paused. "What?"  
  
"I love knowing that I am probably the one person he's loved and who has loved him back. And I love knowing that that face of his reserves him for me!"  
  
"Oh, God," said Raoul. "You're worse than he is, because at least you're pretty."  
  
"Well, I don't like pretty, because look what pretty did to him!"  
  
"Goodbye, Christine," said Raoul.  
  
He was able to check himself into the hospital as soon as he removed the mask bandages, only to find someone waiting in his room.  
  
"The girl is completely nutty, isn't she?" said Erik.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"It's really a shame, what happened to you. You're a very good-looking man. I came to make sure they would operate on you, because the last thing we need is another me."  
  
"Well, actually, they already made the Darkman movies, so it's a little late for that."  
  
Erik shrugged. "True. Well, good luck on your operation."  
  
He turned around and began walking out.  
  
"Wait!" said Raoul.  
  
Erik turned back.  
  
"Why don't you let them fix your face?"  
  
Erik smiled. "You're forgetting I'm an old man compared to you, and the world has already done its damage to me. Besides," he added wryly, "where would the stories come from?"  
  
The Phantom of the Opera left Raoul's room.  
  
The following week, Christine visited Raoul.  
  
"Um, hi," she said, a little sheepishly.  
  
"Hi," said Raoul. "I've been thinking, it's wrong for me to reject you just because you're plain daffy."  
  
Christine wasn't listening. She was staring at the covers Raoul had pulled up over his face with a glazed look in her eyes.  
  
"Christine?"  
  
She pulled away the covers.  
  
A quartet of people who had been eavesdropping provided a chromatic descending chord for dramatic emphasis.  
  
Christine stared at the perfectly restored face in what might have been distaste. Something inside Raoul's psyche snapped. He jumped up from the bed, hooked his arm around Christine's waist, and began running out of the hospital.  
  
"Raoul!" Christine screamed.  
  
He threw her into a waiting cab, hijacked it, and drove it off toward his family manor. Meanwhile, Erik had been sipping tea with other adult victims of child abuse when he saw the carriage go trundling out with a somewhat possessed-looking Raoul at the helm.  
  
Something snapped in his psyche too, and he realized fate wanted him to be the hero this time around. He jumped up and began following the carriage.  
  
By the time he arrived at the Chateau de Chagny, he realized there was a very strange feeling of déjà vu about the whole situation.  
  
"Erik!" Christine's sweet voice cried out. She ran toward him. Erik realized she was wearing a wedding dress.  
  
Oh, Christ. That means-  
  
"I'll just, er, hang myself then?" said Erik, trying to be cooperative although he did not at all appreciate his rival stealing his technique.  
  
"That's mighty big of you." Raoul said cheerfully, and Erik pulled a trick rope out of his cloak to use for the false hanging. "That'll work!" said Raoul.  
  
"I really think this is quite unnecessary," said Christine.  
  
"Not to mention how far you're setting back civil rights for handsome people," Erik added.  
  
"I don't want to hear it!" Raoul cried. "Christine, it's a very simple procedure. Marry me, and Erik lives. Refuse me, and I'll kill him right here in front of you-"  
  
"At least be a gentleman about it!" Erik shouted. "I wasn't planning to kill you in front of the girl!"  
  
"More antifeminist drivel!" Christine screeched. "I have a strong stomach and I can quite handle scenes of graphic violence, thank you very much!"  
  
"Enough! Erik or me?" Raoul demanded.  
  
"Don't throw your life away for me!" Erik shouted.  
  
"You try my patience. Make your choice." Raoul whispered.  
  
Christine gave Erik one tragic look, then walked toward Raoul.  
  
"You poor, beautiful thing," she whispered, before giving Raoul a very long kiss Erik was _certain_ involved tongue. When it was over, Raoul looked stunned.  
  
"You kissed me- with this face? This awful face?"  
  
"I love you, Raoul," Christine whispered.  
  
Raoul shook his head as he helped Erik out of the noose. "No, you love Erik. And all I want is for you to be happy."  
  
"I'll never forget you," said Christine. "Goodbye."  
  
Erik put his arm around Christine's shoulders. Christine stopped suddenly, turned, and ran back toward Raoul.  
  
Raoul's heart caught in his throat. Then, Christine removed the engagement ring and gave it to him. There was a long moment where they only looked at each other. Then Christine gave a little sob and ran back to Erik.  
  
Out the window, Raoul could see them leaving.  
  
"Christine, I love you," he whispered.  
  
And he knew she would have loved him too, if it weren't for that accursed face!Raoul dabbed away a tear as he finished the story. Eponine stared in awe.  
  
"So you're all crazy?" she asked.  
  
Raoul was about to say something rather nasty back when he saw Erik run up to Christine. The masked man was carrying two veggie platters, two cold cut platters, two boxes of doughnuts, and a jug of coffee.  
  
"Why all this?" Christine asked.  
  
"Because I bought the doughnuts and coffee, and then it turned 11:30," Erik panted in reply.  
  
Christine turned to the nervous crowd. "Well, everyone, now that the refreshments are here, I think Erik can tell us why our collective death is imminent!"  
  
The crowd hushed as two ballet rats brought in Christine's laptop on a projection table and a small screen.  
  
"LIGHTS!" Erik prompted.  
  
The chandelier began spinning like a disco ball and "The Hustle" began to play from somewhere.  
  
"PROPER LIGHTS!" Erik shouted.  
  
He was illuminated by a spotlight. Erik started a PowerPoint presentation on the screen. The first slide showed a picture of the Opera House and the phrase "So You've Wrecked The Climate System".  
  
"As you can see, the Opera House's climate system is wrecked. It's getting warmer in some places and colder in others. Today, I found icebergs in the lake."  
  
One of the Opera's tech men raised a hand. Erik nodded.  
  
"Yesterday, when I was checking that leaky gasline in Cellar 3, my cigarrette lighter fluid froze solid!"  
  
Erik paused. "You're an idiot. NEXT SLIDE!"  
  
The next slide was a picture of Joseph Buquet drunk at last year's Masquerade.  
  
"We can generally blame this climate shift on Joseph Buquet using too much toilet paper." Erik continued. At this news, most of the Opera denizens scowled at Buquet, who shrugged innocently.  
  
"You gotta go, you gotta go," he rationalized.  
  
Erik continued to explain how this worked, but since he's way smarter than I am, I didn't quite get it.  
  
"When is this supposed to strike us?" asked Marguerite  
  
"The day after yesterday," Erik replied.  
  
Cosette began bouncing in her chair and waving her hand in the air.  
  
"Yes, mademoiselle?"  
  
"Why- that's today!" Cosette gasped.  
  
"No, really?" said Erik with a roll of the eyes.  
  
The meeting was interrupted by a heavy slushing sound outside the auditorium.  
  
"Well, that would be the foyer flooding," said Erik.  
  
There was a stunned, horrified silence. Christine looked around, trying to find a way to break the tension. She took a deep breath.  
  
"Should I bring him down, should I shout out loud, I never thought I'd come to this-"  
  
Erik shushed her violently. He gave the audience a weak smile.  
  
"Doughnuts, anyone?" 


	2. Ah, L'Amour

_Wow, chapter two already. I didn't know this thing would go over so well! I tried to avoid making it just another silly humor phic and give it some real heart underneath all the madness. My biggest relief is that the Christine/Raoul breakup flashback went over OK. It wasn't intended as simple act of Raoul mutilation at all. In fact, isn't he more likable now that he's as crazy and desperate as the rest of the bunch? And he still wants Christine BAD. However, in this chapter, both he and Erik are in for a surprise when Christine succumbs to the dangers of hero worship- but why am I telling you this? It's just a couple lines away! Read for yourself!  
_  
_Daroga's Rainy Daae: The "people cars" are from Starlight Express, one of ALW's weirder attempts. (Like, weirder than Cats.) The show is about a bunch of trains and train cars gearing up for a big race. The leading contenders are Greaseball the Diesel engine and Electra the electric train (who is in fact male. Go figure.), but an overly earnest and lovesick young steam train named Rusty wants to compete and prove "Nobody can do it like a steam train" (boy, does THAT sound wrong) so he can win the heart of Pearl, the beautiful and fickle observation car. Add Greaseball's obsessive Southern sweetheart Dinah the dining car, CB the shifty caboose, 3D-movie race sequences, and a mysterious force known as the Starlight Express, and you've got an 80's-pop roller derby musical that makes Thomas the Tank Engine look like . . . well, Thomas the Tank Engine.  
  
(Okay, Lord Andy, how's that for great ad copy? NOW WHERE'S MY FRIGGIN CHECK?)_  
  
"We don't want doughnuts, we want answers!" someone shouted.  
  
"What are we going to eat when we run out of doughnuts, cold cuts, and veggies?" another person demanded.  
  
"Well, that's my next topic," said Erik. "From now on, we will have to maintain an 'eating list'."  
  
There was a lot of muttering and exchanging of thoughts in the audience.  
  
"The eating list will help us from completely descending into barbarism," he continued. "See, if we do have to descend into cannibalism, then we should at least be orderly about it. We'll keep a running record of the person we'd miss the least if they were to be . . . eaten."  
  
This didn't go over well, except for with a plump little woman with her hair in two knobs sitting in the Les Miz section. Next to her was a sour-faced man who had the general air of having aged too fast due to hardship and not being at all pleased with his current situation. The woman kept nudging the man and nodding excitedly. The man simply pressed his thin lips together and nodded.  
  
"I'm going to the lair to get some supplies," Erik told Christine.  
  
"Be careful," Christine replied. Erik nodded. As he headed off, she turned toward the others with an uncertain smile.  
  
"Who wants to sing something?" she suggested.  
  
Cosette began bouncing in her seat and waving her arm in the air the way she always did when she had an idea.  
  
"Ooh! Ooh! I know! I know!"  
  
"Cosette?"  
  
Cosette frowned. "That's odd. I just had it."  
  
Christine sighed. It was going to be a long end of the world. She wandered back to her dressing room and collapsed on her fainting couch from worry and fear. She thought over the whole blasted situation and shook her head wearily. Here she was, with the end of her young life close at hand, forced to maintain a group of people she barely knew, and on top of it all poor Raoul was still hanging around her, hoping she would change her mind. He really was a sad case, so young, so lost, and oh, so-  
  
"Beautiful!" a man in the doorway finished for her. He had a booming baritone even deeper than Erik's, and a rather angry sort of sadness to it.  
  
Christine turned in a whirl of flying ringlets. "Hey! What are you doing here?"  
  
"I came here to thank you." It was the thin-lipped, sour-faced man from earlier, who had been sitting in the Les Miz section. He gave Christine a rather strange smile.  
  
"What, for probably killing you?"  
  
"No, for not making a fuss about our presence here."  
  
Christine shrugged. "You're our guest, however much of a mixed blessing that might be."  
  
"Guest?" the man repeated curiously, the way Frankenstein's monster asked if the Bride was "Friend?"  
  
"Yeah. So, are you one of the rebels?" asked Christine.  
  
"Rebel? Er- Yes. That's precisely what I am. Fighting for liberté, egalité, and fraternité, that's what I do!" He laughed nervously. "So, what's this about an 'eating list'?"  
  
"Idea of Erik's. He has them sometimes, you know. Can't be helped." She smiled prettily, her little pearl teeth gleaming from between full rosy lips. "I doubt it'll come to that, but, well- Even anarchy should have structure, right?"  
  
The man frowned. "That's not anarchy, then."  
  
"Whatever. Sir, I'm very sorry, but I need some time to think. If you could please go out with the others-"  
  
"Yes," he said darkly, and moved away, glaring, as Christine headed toward the cellars. As soon as she was far enough away where she couldn't see him, his expression softened.  
  
"Christine Daaé," he said aloud. "Pure, beautiful creature . . ." He smiled. "Such a good girl."  
  
The stowaway could feel his hard heart melting as it hadn't melted in years . . .  
  
Christine was lost.  
  
"I find it a little odd," she said aloud, "that I lose my way in such perilous circumstances, when on an ordinary day I know I would be quite all right. But, since I have a feeling this might perhaps forward the story, it's probably best to keep going forward into unknown territory. I'm the female lead, after all, and they rarely die in poorly constructed action movies, no matter how stupid their actions might be. And I am already experienced in being a fickle romantic interest."  
  
She paused. "They do end up naked quite a bit, though. Am I prepared for that?"  
  
A grin split into her face. "I'll give it a shot."  
  
The young woman continued down the hall. The dim lighting was hardly constructive to comforting thoughts. Neither was the odd whistling sound that was now pervading the cellar corridor. Christine shivered and tried her best to disregard it, but it gradually grew louder and a slight wind began tugging at her dress and hair.  
  
"That's it," she deadpanned. "Convention aside, I'm running."  
  
She dropped her lantern, gathered her skirts up, and bolted down the nearly dark passage. The whistling and the wind grew louder. It reminded Christine a bit of a song. She smiled.  
  
"Whistle down the wind-"  
  
She shook her head. "I'll let the interludes wait."  
  
She darted down the hall again, but running was difficult with about fifteen pounds of skirt hitched up at knee height. While the sound grew louder, her steps grew faster, and she was tripped by a small rock.  
  
"Oh, dammit," said Christine when she saw the cause of the trouble.  
  
It was a tornado.  
  
She screamed and tried to run faster than it, but the whirlwind kept good speed. Just as she was about to give up, a bulky cloaked form dragged her out of the way.  
  
"Thank you, Erik!" she whispered. She tried to bury her face into his chest, but found that said chest was too wide and muscular to be Erik's. Christine took a step backward and realized her rescuer was a man she'd admired for years. A man she'd read every word about.  
  
"You're-"  
  
"I am Batman," said Christine's rescuer.  
  
Christine squealed. "Oh, sir, it's a true honor to meet you! You've always been my favorite superhero, you know-"  
  
"I'm not here to sign autographs." Batman said, protectively putting an arm around Christine's slender shoulders. "Now how did you get here?"  
  
"I walked," said Christine. "But how did you get here? Is the Batmobile in this cellar? Is-"  
  
"I'm on my own." the Dark Knight replied. "Two-Face has a stranglehold on this building, but he's not going down without a fight."  
  
Christine bit her lip and smiled sheepishly.  
  
"What?" asked Batman.  
  
"You're probably thinking of my boyfriend Erik," she explained. "He's a disfigured madman too, except you know how Two-Face has good spasms? Erik has bad spasms. And Erik was born ugly. No acid for him, unless you believe that 1943 movie-"  
  
"Enough!" said Batman. "So he isn't here?"  
  
Christine shook her head.  
  
"Dammit," said Batman. "Then I have to get going."  
  
Christine sighed. "I'm afraid that's kind of impossible," she admitted. "Joseph Buquet's rampant overuse of toilet paper has triggered some highly unusual weather here, and we're all kind of iced in. Sorry."  
  
"But then who can guard Gotham against evil?" the Caped Crusader demanded.  
  
"I'd say Nightwing, Robin, Oracle, Huntress, Azrael, and Spoiler can handle it for a few days." There was no way that Christine was letting her hero know the Opera had become a death trap. "And if you're lucky, Catwoman won't be on one of her burglary days and'll be more inclined toward vigilantism."  
  
Her hero studied her suspiciously. "How do you know all that?"  
  
"Bruce," she sighed, "I know everything about you!"  
  
Batman stumbled back rather ungracefully. "What did you just call me?"  
  
"Bru- Oh, yes. The whole alter-ego thing. Sorry."  
  
Batman glared at her. "Who are you working for?"  
  
"I'm a singer. I work for me." Christine explained. "But I feel a lot more confident having you on our team now. Would you like to meet Erik? I've told him a lot about you."  
  
Much as Batman knew appearances could be deceiving, he couldn't help but trust Christine. A lot of that came from the fact that no self- respecting beautiful young villainess would dare dress so modestly, even if it were off the job.  
  
"What's your name?" Batman asked the lovely young girl.  
  
"Christine Daaé," said Christine. "Now can I test one thing before we go?"  
  
She moved her hands gently over his massively muscled chest and then sighed with relief.  
  
"What?" asked Batman.  
  
"No Bat-nipples™," said Christine. "Those movies had me a little worried."  
  
"Erik! Erik, there's someone I want you to meet!"  
  
Batman was trying very hard not to think about the fact he was in an underground lair, with a pretty girl staring at him and quietly laughing every few seconds. He was certain he'd played right into a trap.  
  
"He's probably in his lab," said Christine. "Follow me!"  
  
Great. An underground lair with a lab. Was this how it all was to end? Dragged down by a pair of big emerald eyes and a sweet voice?  
  
Christine pushed open the door. "Erik! Look who decided to come by!"  
  
Erik groaned when he looked up. He had removed his mask and false hair for better comfort while working on his plans for escape, and, consequently, his disfigurement was laid plain for Christine and Batman to see.  
  
"Don't worry, man, I've seen worse," said Batman.  
  
Erik lifted a hand to cover his face. "I doubt that."  
  
"Erik, this is Batman. Batman, this is Erik," said Christine. "Erik, you can put your hand down."  
  
Erik slowly lowered his arm and stared at Christine's hero. "So. You're the one Christine's so fond of?"  
  
"Apparently," Batman replied.  
  
"You two should get along fine," said Christine. "You've got a lot in common, you know. Childhood tragedy, alter egos, world travelers, the whole penchant for black clothing . . ."  
  
Both the Guardian of Gotham and the Angel of Music were staring at her in a way that had a distinct air of "shut yer big yap-hole" about it. Erik slowly turned to look at the new guest.  
  
"You're rather muscular," said Erik, for lack of anything better to say. "Eight-Minute Abs?"  
  
"Try crime fighting," Batman corrected.  
  
"I see the Bat-nipples™ were only a vicious Hollywood myth," Erik added.  
  
Batman stared.  
  
"I'll get us some coffee," said Christine.  
  
"Make mine decaf," said Batman.  
  
Raoul felt a little tap on his shoulder in the line for cold cuts. He turned around and saw that dirty girl from earlier, Eponine or whatever her name was.  
  
"We meet again!" Eponine grinned. "Funny when stuff works out like that, innit?"  
  
Raoul nodded helplessly. The last thing he needed was another screwy girl messing with his life. Christine's little intervention had only made things worse. The surgery that fixed the attack of the waffle iron had also straightened his nose, and somebody decided he'd look better with a different cleft in his chin. Not only that, but all of the hair that fell out had grown back in at one even length, which had conspired with what had remained to create what Madame Giry in a moment of weakness had called "a cute Brad Pitt bob". He couldn't win! He'd even put his picture in one of those virtual makeover things to see if shaving his head would do any good, but the girl running it thought it made him look like Vin Diesel. Raoul had even tried a period of crossdressing, only to discover that Rocky Horror fangirls thought he was button-cute.  
  
"Yeah, funny," he muttered.  
  
Eponine winked coquettishly. "Y'know, I've always had a thing for pretty rich boys."  
  
Raoul felt his heart lighten. Could this girl really be good-hearted enough to love him in spite of how he looked?  
  
"You- you do?"  
  
Eponine nodded, smiling.  
  
Raoul was about to ask her out when he remembered what he looked like. Even though she wasn't exactly Miss America right now, he could tell that Eponine had the potential to be quite pretty after a few baths and proper meals. Why burden her with his awful face?  
  
"Well, Prince William is pretty and rich. I'm sure he'd be enchanted."  
  
Eponine watched sadly as Raoul strode away. She sighed and shook her head. The poor guy really was delusional, even if he was pretty cute.  
  
"Ah, l'amour," Jean Valjean sighed. Unfortunately, this was a reaction to the news that a lot of the Jellicle Cats had decided if they were all going to die soon, there was going to be a lot of serious mating in the meantime.  
  
"So, who did you think I was?" asked Erik.  
  
"Two-Face." Batman replied. "One of my numerous archenemies. He's kind of got the whole"- he covered one side of his face with his hand- "thing going on as well."  
  
"Ah." Erik nodded. "I always wondered if there was another one."  
  
"Oh, well, he doesn't look like you," said Christine. "Wrong side of his face, first of all. Here- look..."  
  
She showed him a picture in one of her numerous Batman books.  
  
"Good Lord," said Erik.  
  
"I know," Batman added sadly. "And he was once such a good man."  
  
"If he was hit by acid, how come it's so neat down the center of his face?" Erik asked, studying the book a little closer. "Acid splashes, you know. I work with it in my laboratory all the time."  
  
"Well, that's because-"  
  
"I'm pretty sure he had his face metal-plated in the animated series, dear," said Christine, trying to prevent a fight.  
  
"Which, unfortunately, starts a whole new set of problems."  
  
"And what is going on with his hair?" Erik continued. "An acid severe enough to damage the skin to such extent would undoubtedly destroy hair follicles, not just turn the hair white! He shouldn't have any hair on the damaged side at all!"  
  
"Well, he didn't in the movie-"  
  
"For Christ's sake, Christine, our friend here had a suit with nipples in the movie!"  
  
"What is your obsession with Bat-nipples™?" Batman shouted. "Everywhere I go, it's Bat-nipples™ this, Bat-nipples™ that! Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!"  
  
"Your Bat-nipples™ are named MARCIA?" Christine gasped.  
  
Batman groaned loudly while Erik continued his opposition of Two- Face.  
  
"And finally, if he's on the Public Enemies list, who makes all these neatly colorsplit suits? Wouldn't any law-abiding tailor turn him in?"  
  
"Maybe he can sew?" Christine suggested.  
  
"Not all tailors are law-abiding, Erik." Batman added.  
  
"I'm still sticking to my case."  
  
They all sat there, fuming and eating coffeecake.  
  
"Don't we have an opera to save?" said Batman.  
  
"He'd be blind in that eye, too." Erik muttered.  
  
"Would you stop it? Keep in mind you're sitting opposite a guy dressed like a spandex bat."  
  
"Look!" said Christine. "We can store doughnuts on the points of Batman's cowl."  
  
_And that's Chapter Two. Tune in next time, same Bat time, and same Bat place. (Hee-hee, that actually makes sense for this chapter!)_


End file.
